"Who is that?" Ron nodded at a girl sitting next to Hagrid at the
table with the professors. The question was directed at everyone in
earshot, but Hermione was the only one to answer.
"I don't know," she said, with the pained expression she inadvertently assumed when she didn't know something. "She looks too young to be a professor..."
She did indeed. Harry looked over at her and spread his gaze over her like he was slathering butter on toast.
Harry winced. Sometimes he hated the crappy metaphors his mind conjured up.
He turned his attention back to the girl. She looked more like a student than a professor–even looked to be about his age, maybe a little older. She had straight black hair and uneasy, darting blue eyes. A feather hung from a single twisted braid in her hair that shook whenever she moved her head, which she did constantly, as though she was expecting the entire male body of students to rise up and try to molest her right there in the dining hall.
Which, Harry noticed, wasn't an entirely irrational fear, judging by the way some of his peers were staring at her and licking their teeth, grunting like horny bears. In a flash of thinking that he was sure Hermione would get righteously pissed off at if she could read his mind, he realized that he didn't really blame them. The girl was beautiful.
Harry shook his head. What was wrong with him? No matter how beautiful, no girl deserved to be looked at like...like Crabbe was looking at her, just across the aisle, smirking dirtily at her through his chub- ridden cheeks and, Harry suddenly saw with a bolt of stomach-turning revulsion, rubbing his robe where his nipple was.
Harry shuddered.
"You okay, Harry?" said Hermione, still with the residual expression of pain at not knowing something.
"Yeah," he said. "Just had a bad mental image, is all." He dared to glance over at Crabbe, who hadn't changed his activities.
Hermione followed his eyes and her pained expression turned to one of nausea. She swallowed. "I see what you mean...unfortunately."
They were saved from the dirty memory of Crabbe by Professor McGonagall, who came striding down the hall carrying the Sorting Hat on a stool like an irritated ring bearer. Silence slowly crept over the hall as McGonagall set down the stool in front of the professors' table at the fore. The first years were filing into the space before it with worried expressions on their faces that made them look small and adorably frightened.
"Aww! They're so cute!" said Ron, just as complete silence crashed down, sending his voice echoing loudly around the hall.
"Shut up!" barked the Sorting Hat. Ron yelped like a poodle and jumped up off his bench, falling on Hermione. Hermione gently shoved him back into his seat and smacked his arm for good measure.
Then the Hat audibly drew a long inhalation and began his song. It was the same one from last year, the song about not fighting and school unity and divisions being bad and that sort of smarmy crap. There was the customary applause, and then McGonagall began the list of names for the first years.
As the list went on and the Hat spat out house categorizations, Ron and Neville began quietly speculating about the girl at the professor's table again.
"New Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Neville.
"I dunno," said Ron. "She looks a little too...jumpy to be a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
"Like you're one to talk about being jumpy," mumbled Hermione.
"Shut up! It caught me by surprise!"
"Shh," said Hermione. "The first years are still being sorted."
McGonagall smoothly read through the rest of the alphabet, and soon all the first years were seated with their new houses. Then Dumbledore rose and moved to the podium. He opened his mouth and took a deep breath, and then just held it, not saying anything and looking innocuously around the hall, incurring a long, awkward pause.
"Ta-da!" he finally said, as food popped up all around the tables, and then he went back to his seat.
"His speeches are getting better every year," said Neville, shoving half of a roll into his mouth.
"Dathwait," said Ron, his tongue flapping in between bits of chicken. Hermione gently picked up an apple and chewed on it thoughtfully. Or maybe it just looked like she was chewing on it thoughtfully to make her look like she was having a genius breakthrough when in fact she was singing "Hit Me Baby One More Time" in her head. Then no one would know...
Harry looked at her suspiciously.
"What?" she said.
He smiled. "Nothing." He stabbed a piece of chicken and began cleaving through it on his plate.
He'd not been in the best of moods for most of the summer. In fact, he spent a lot of the time at the Dursley's fantasizing about tying them all together so they couldn't fit through any of the doors or hallways, trapping them inside a single room, and poking them with a pool cue from the narrow passage, thereby slowly driving them insane.
Those were his better days.
But now, the sight of food, the great hall, and his friends made him happier than he'd been in a long while.
After he was full, and Ron was indignantly denying that if he ate any more he'd have to throw up after dinner by shoving a large slab of turkey in his mouth, Dumbledore rose again to speak at the podium.
"Well, after all that I'm sure you're all eager to get to your beds and not move for several hours–"
At this Ron nodded, his face starting to contort unpleasantly.
"But I have the usual notices and announcements to make first. First years should note that the forest is off limits to all students. Quidditch tryouts will be held on the second week of the term. And...we have some changes in faculty." He swept his hand out over the tables behind him, landing his hand in an arrow pointing at Professor Snape.
"Professor Snape, who some of you have known as our Potions teacher, will be retiring from that post–"
Harry's and Ron's mouths swung open slightly in disbelief and delight. It was too good to be true. It had to be.
"–and taking up the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged dark looks.
"In his place, we are pleased to welcome Professor Grimble as Potions teacher." Dumbledore waved his hand to what looked like an empty space at the table. Murmurs rose among the students, and some tried to stretch up and see if maybe they were missing something.
"Ah, perhaps he'd be so kind as to stand," said Dumbledore to the empty space. Suddenly the chair moved, and over the edge of the table rose a tiny little man, who leapt up with an agile flip and landed on the table. He was no more than two feet high, and the bottom foot of him was covered by a pair of black riding boots. His face was pleasantly...well, twinkly, Harry thought, was the only way to describe it; his eyes were completely black but were flecked all over with bright points of light, like stars. He gave a charming smile and ran a tiny hand over his long, shining hair. If he were among badly-dressed dwarf women, he wouldn't be able to beat them back.
Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he jumped down from the table and flicked out of sight again.
"In addition," continued Dumbledore, "I am excited to announce that Hogwarts will be offering a new class for years four through seven–a more advanced study–Animagic."
"Animagic!" blurted out Hermione in surprise, along with a number of other students in the hall.
"We are privileged to have, in this new undertaking, Professor Montague." He moved his hand to aim it at the young dark-haired girl, who looked absolutely mortified to have the attention of an entire hall of people on her. Hagrid said something to her, obviously along the lines of "stand up", because she did, reluctantly and nervously, attempting a slow smile at the crowd. She sat down as the applause abated, nearly missing her chair.
"Hope she doesn't piss herself with fright," said Ron. Hermione hit him on the arm again.
"Ow! Bloody hell, at least pick a different spot!"
"That wasn't very nice, Ron."
"You're not very nice."
Hermione rolled her eyes as Dumbledore went on.
"And, with no further adieu, because we certainly don't need any and we can get along fine without it, off to bed you go."
"Finally," said Ron, exhaling loudly.
"Tired, Ron?" said Harry.
"Yeah, but I need to go throw up first."
"I don't know," she said, with the pained expression she inadvertently assumed when she didn't know something. "She looks too young to be a professor..."
She did indeed. Harry looked over at her and spread his gaze over her like he was slathering butter on toast.
Harry winced. Sometimes he hated the crappy metaphors his mind conjured up.
He turned his attention back to the girl. She looked more like a student than a professor–even looked to be about his age, maybe a little older. She had straight black hair and uneasy, darting blue eyes. A feather hung from a single twisted braid in her hair that shook whenever she moved her head, which she did constantly, as though she was expecting the entire male body of students to rise up and try to molest her right there in the dining hall.
Which, Harry noticed, wasn't an entirely irrational fear, judging by the way some of his peers were staring at her and licking their teeth, grunting like horny bears. In a flash of thinking that he was sure Hermione would get righteously pissed off at if she could read his mind, he realized that he didn't really blame them. The girl was beautiful.
Harry shook his head. What was wrong with him? No matter how beautiful, no girl deserved to be looked at like...like Crabbe was looking at her, just across the aisle, smirking dirtily at her through his chub- ridden cheeks and, Harry suddenly saw with a bolt of stomach-turning revulsion, rubbing his robe where his nipple was.
Harry shuddered.
"You okay, Harry?" said Hermione, still with the residual expression of pain at not knowing something.
"Yeah," he said. "Just had a bad mental image, is all." He dared to glance over at Crabbe, who hadn't changed his activities.
Hermione followed his eyes and her pained expression turned to one of nausea. She swallowed. "I see what you mean...unfortunately."
They were saved from the dirty memory of Crabbe by Professor McGonagall, who came striding down the hall carrying the Sorting Hat on a stool like an irritated ring bearer. Silence slowly crept over the hall as McGonagall set down the stool in front of the professors' table at the fore. The first years were filing into the space before it with worried expressions on their faces that made them look small and adorably frightened.
"Aww! They're so cute!" said Ron, just as complete silence crashed down, sending his voice echoing loudly around the hall.
"Shut up!" barked the Sorting Hat. Ron yelped like a poodle and jumped up off his bench, falling on Hermione. Hermione gently shoved him back into his seat and smacked his arm for good measure.
Then the Hat audibly drew a long inhalation and began his song. It was the same one from last year, the song about not fighting and school unity and divisions being bad and that sort of smarmy crap. There was the customary applause, and then McGonagall began the list of names for the first years.
As the list went on and the Hat spat out house categorizations, Ron and Neville began quietly speculating about the girl at the professor's table again.
"New Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Neville.
"I dunno," said Ron. "She looks a little too...jumpy to be a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
"Like you're one to talk about being jumpy," mumbled Hermione.
"Shut up! It caught me by surprise!"
"Shh," said Hermione. "The first years are still being sorted."
McGonagall smoothly read through the rest of the alphabet, and soon all the first years were seated with their new houses. Then Dumbledore rose and moved to the podium. He opened his mouth and took a deep breath, and then just held it, not saying anything and looking innocuously around the hall, incurring a long, awkward pause.
"Ta-da!" he finally said, as food popped up all around the tables, and then he went back to his seat.
"His speeches are getting better every year," said Neville, shoving half of a roll into his mouth.
"Dathwait," said Ron, his tongue flapping in between bits of chicken. Hermione gently picked up an apple and chewed on it thoughtfully. Or maybe it just looked like she was chewing on it thoughtfully to make her look like she was having a genius breakthrough when in fact she was singing "Hit Me Baby One More Time" in her head. Then no one would know...
Harry looked at her suspiciously.
"What?" she said.
He smiled. "Nothing." He stabbed a piece of chicken and began cleaving through it on his plate.
He'd not been in the best of moods for most of the summer. In fact, he spent a lot of the time at the Dursley's fantasizing about tying them all together so they couldn't fit through any of the doors or hallways, trapping them inside a single room, and poking them with a pool cue from the narrow passage, thereby slowly driving them insane.
Those were his better days.
But now, the sight of food, the great hall, and his friends made him happier than he'd been in a long while.
After he was full, and Ron was indignantly denying that if he ate any more he'd have to throw up after dinner by shoving a large slab of turkey in his mouth, Dumbledore rose again to speak at the podium.
"Well, after all that I'm sure you're all eager to get to your beds and not move for several hours–"
At this Ron nodded, his face starting to contort unpleasantly.
"But I have the usual notices and announcements to make first. First years should note that the forest is off limits to all students. Quidditch tryouts will be held on the second week of the term. And...we have some changes in faculty." He swept his hand out over the tables behind him, landing his hand in an arrow pointing at Professor Snape.
"Professor Snape, who some of you have known as our Potions teacher, will be retiring from that post–"
Harry's and Ron's mouths swung open slightly in disbelief and delight. It was too good to be true. It had to be.
"–and taking up the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged dark looks.
"In his place, we are pleased to welcome Professor Grimble as Potions teacher." Dumbledore waved his hand to what looked like an empty space at the table. Murmurs rose among the students, and some tried to stretch up and see if maybe they were missing something.
"Ah, perhaps he'd be so kind as to stand," said Dumbledore to the empty space. Suddenly the chair moved, and over the edge of the table rose a tiny little man, who leapt up with an agile flip and landed on the table. He was no more than two feet high, and the bottom foot of him was covered by a pair of black riding boots. His face was pleasantly...well, twinkly, Harry thought, was the only way to describe it; his eyes were completely black but were flecked all over with bright points of light, like stars. He gave a charming smile and ran a tiny hand over his long, shining hair. If he were among badly-dressed dwarf women, he wouldn't be able to beat them back.
Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he jumped down from the table and flicked out of sight again.
"In addition," continued Dumbledore, "I am excited to announce that Hogwarts will be offering a new class for years four through seven–a more advanced study–Animagic."
"Animagic!" blurted out Hermione in surprise, along with a number of other students in the hall.
"We are privileged to have, in this new undertaking, Professor Montague." He moved his hand to aim it at the young dark-haired girl, who looked absolutely mortified to have the attention of an entire hall of people on her. Hagrid said something to her, obviously along the lines of "stand up", because she did, reluctantly and nervously, attempting a slow smile at the crowd. She sat down as the applause abated, nearly missing her chair.
"Hope she doesn't piss herself with fright," said Ron. Hermione hit him on the arm again.
"Ow! Bloody hell, at least pick a different spot!"
"That wasn't very nice, Ron."
"You're not very nice."
Hermione rolled her eyes as Dumbledore went on.
"And, with no further adieu, because we certainly don't need any and we can get along fine without it, off to bed you go."
"Finally," said Ron, exhaling loudly.
"Tired, Ron?" said Harry.
"Yeah, but I need to go throw up first."